visceral
by yerrr87
Summary: Despite Angelina's best efforts, she always found herself catching Fred Weasley's eye as soon as he entered a room. Non-linear Fred/Angelina drabbles, Hogwarts through pre-DH events.
1. Hearing

Angelina heard him before she saw him, his voice floating over all others in the crowded restaurant's dining room. As she followed her mother and sister towards the front door, she resisted the urge to crane her head around and look for the telltale red hair.

_...opportune moment to partner with a growing business,_ she heard Fred say, as clearly as if he was standing right next to her. It had been months since they'd spoken. _...school year coming up, and Hogsmeade's still open to students as far as we know... _

Angelina put her hand up to catch the door, and betrayed herself by sneaking a look. There they were, Fred gesturing with his hands, George nodding enthusiastically, and an older wizard that looked overwhelmed by their vibrant energy.

Walking outside, Angelina let the plate glass windows of Diagon Alley act as a barrier between them and looked directly at the table, and as if he felt her gaze, Fred glanced over and into her eyes.

Although she could no longer hear his words, Angelina saw him flush and falter, stammer for an instant before his brother took the reins and continued speaking for them both.

She turned away and hurried to catch up with her family, his voice still ringing in her ears.


	2. Sight

At school, she learned to tune out the stares. Her mother taught her to walk purposefully, shoulders back and eyes focused on a point far in the distance. Angelina had felt the eyes on her the moment she had boarded the train for her fourth year. It was easier to pretend it didn't affect her.

She learned to parcel out her glances and how to pin someone with her gaze, how to slide her eyes past a person as though she hadn't noticed them at all. She earned a reputation: who-does-she-think-she-is; ice-queen; untouchable.

Fred saw through her act, and for that, Angelina felt his eyes more keenly than anyone's. She established an internal system of sorts: only make eye contact when he was speaking, or when he was speaking to her, or not at all. Any undue attention would expose her. Despite her rules, she still found herself catching his eye every time he climbed through the portrait hole or walked into one of their classes.

The thing about Fred was that although he spent most of his time commanding a room, he still managed to notice everything. Skipping from conversation to conversation, adding a joke here, a pointed comment there; his attention seemed fleeting, and yet when he fixed her with his narrow brown eyes, Angelina felt as though she was the only thing he saw.


	3. Taste

He liked spicy foods, the inherent dare found in cayenne and chili. The first time they had kissed, Angelina tasted pepper and sugar, the aftermath of a late night Honeydukes binge in the Common Room. _Pepper Imps_, he'd grinned at her, and she laughed.

After the Yule Ball, where Firewhiskey had been flowing freely, if illicitly, he kissed her properly. Their building drunkenness and teenage desire culminated in a furtive encounter on the stairs of the boys' dormitory, where Fred caught her arm and pulled her towards him in a whirl of yellow silk.

As their mouths met, the metallic taste of alcohol overwhelmed her. _You taste drunk_, she'd mumbled, eyes still closed. Fred pulled away, his tongue darting to the corner of his mouth. _So do you_, he'd said breathlessly before leaning back in.

Back in her room, Angelina clumsily poured herself water, spilling some down her wrist. Setting down the glass, she raised her hand to her mouth, preparing to lap the droplets up before stopping suddenly. She could still feel Fred's hands on her waist, clutching her tightly in the dark. She smiled and pressed her lips together, tasting the last drops of Firewhiskey.


	4. Touch

They could be rough.

Once, he'd accidentally caught her jaw with his elbow, arms flailing as he wound back for a punch that would not land. She'd bitten through her lip and felt tears sting her eyes before dashing them away and maintaining her grip around his waist. Fred and the others were booted from the team anyway, the beginning of the end.

Once, she shoved him so hard he'd stumbled backwards, the breath knocked out of him. He gasped and caught her hands in his, pinning her arms to her sides as she raged. The next day he was gone, soaring away in a blaze of fireworks from the school that had become a fortress, and Angelina remained, subsisting on fury and heartache until the end of term.

However.

Once, he had knelt before her and removed her pumps from her feet, closing her slim ankles in his hands. Angelina thought about drawing away, but decided against it, instead letting him trace the tops of her feet with his fingertips as she gazed at the ceiling and tried to blink away the sudden wetness in her eyes.

Once, her head laid solidly on his bare chest, her warm breath tickling the fine reddish hairs. She murmured, _I can hear your heart beating_, and instead of the customary smart remark, Fred cleared his throat and wrapped his arms more tightly around her shoulders, drawing her closer.


	5. Scent

He smelled faintly of smoke and firewood, like a countryside bonfire or the aftermath of a fireworks show. Other times, it was a clean laundry scent, a lifetime of care and support wafting from his pores.

After matches, a sheen of sweat would appear on his forehead and upper lip, and when he wrapped his arm loosely around her shoulders in celebration she had to resist the urge to bury her face in his neck and breathe in.

Sometimes they laid facing each other, blankets rumpled and her leg thrown haphazardly over his. He always fell asleep before she did, and Angelina inhaled when Fred exhaled, his breath feeding hers. In the mornings, her pillows smelt slightly of their combined perspiration and an extinguished flame.


	6. Once More, With Feeling

Angelina had been home alone when the knock came.

Startled, she stumbled to the door, wand at the ready. Peering suspiciously through the peephole, she lurched back in surprise, and then wrenched the door open before she could think.

There Fred Weasley stood on the threshold, as though he'd been invited over and she'd merely forgotten. He looked disheveled, and didn't speak.

_What's happened?_ she asked, impatient and eager.

_You didn't hear — down the road, there's been a — you're alright? _

She stared at him, eyes searching his face. He looked older than she remembered, bags under his eyes and freckles standing out starkly on his pale skin. He took a breath, composing himself. _There's been a fire. An attack, almost. I was in the area, and...well. I was in the area. _

Angelina cleared her throat. _You'll want to come in, then. _

He blinked rapidly. _Shouldn't you..._

She knew she was supposed to perform a check: ask what locker he'd had in the Hogwarts Quidditch changing rooms (_number 21_), or how he preferred his eggs (_soft boiled, with toast_), or to explain why they hadn't spoken in months (she had to admit that she didn't have a good answer to that one either, really a rubbish security question if you thought about it too hard).

They stood on opposite sides of the door, looking steadily at each other, willing the words to come. Fred's narrow eyes searched her face, and she felt herself drawing a conclusion from some untouched depths.

_It's you,_ she said finally, waving her wand to disarm her security spells. He stepped into her flat, passing close by her side as he entered.

_Can't be too careful. How'd you know_? he said. She felt him looking at her, heard the grin in his voice. _You always know. _

She smiled despite herself, and turned back towards the doorway. _Just a feeling, I suppose._


End file.
